A Powerbomb of Nostalgia
by Mattycollns13
Summary: Sequel to Locking in the Sleeper Hold. Jessica always went to Clint's to drink when Trish was off doing radio show shit. This time, she didn't expect the show he had on at his place. And didn't expect how it would make her feel.


Jessica's feet pounded through the New York streets. A six-pack of shitty beer gripped tightly in her right fist. She knocked through a group of tourists who decided it would be fun to take up the entire sidewalk by walking side by side. Fucking dicks. She was in a bad mood… okay a worse mood than her usual bad mood. Trish was out of town doing interviews for her radio show. This meant that Jess had three choices: Drink by herself at her and Trish's place, Drink while Malcolm stared disapprovingly at her office, or go to Clint's and have him probably annoy the shit out of her while they both got drunk. Option three won out and now here she was in Brooklyn.

She got to Clint's building and faintly remembered the first time she met the archer. She had been out one night, liquor bottle in hand, fresh off her final battle with Kilgrave, and heard the sounds of some idiot getting the shit kicked out of him in an alley. She went to help and ended up smashing that liquor bottle on the top of some over-muscled Russian and saving some pajama-wearing blonde bimbo. Turns out that blonde bimbo had been the world saving Hawkeye. She had hauled him up to his apartment and endured his incessant chatter all the way up the stairs. Then after she was sure he wasn't gonna bleed to death she gave him her business card, just in case he found himself in more Russian trouble.

He had ended up calling her the next day to take her out for drinks as a thank you and to repay the alcohol she had lost saving his ass, even though, he insisted he had it all handled. Jessica might hate people, but free booze was worth it. They had gotten to talking, and Jessica found she rather liked the purple archer. When he wasn't being fucking annoying. So now, with her girlfriend away for the next few days and unable to sleep through the nightmares without her, it was time to pay Clint a visit.

She broke the lock on his door and opened it herself. Clint was sitting on the couch in his boxers and socks. He looked over at her, but shrugged and turned back to the television. Jessica walked over to the living room, gave a little pat on the head of Clint's dog, Lucy or something, and kicked her shoes off. She threw the six-pack at Clint who caught it and set it on the table in front of the couch. She dropped next to him; he looked over at her while she looked him over.

"Thanks for dolling up for me." She said without any real venom.

He smirked at her and gestured to his boxers, "Only what you deserve Jones. You're just lucky I wasn't naked."

She gave him a cutesy smile right back, "Good thing, I was hoping for an action flick, not a horror film."

Clint rolled his eyes but turned back towards the television. Jessica did the same, and for the first time saw what they were watching. She raised an eyebrow, "Really? Wrestling? Isn't this a bit childish even for you?"

Clint let out a sigh, "Why does everyone think that? Wrestling is enjoyable at all ages." He looked at her, "I'd expect you to be a fan."

She raised an eyebrow at that, "Why do you say that?"

He took a sip of his beer, leaning forward to pull one out of the six-pack and hand it to her. She took it, but continued staring at him waiting for an answer.

"Well," he started, "there's a couple reasons. One, I'd expect you to enjoy the aesthetic value of these people. They're fucking hot." Jessica rolled her eyes and opened her mouth, but Clint cut her off, "I know, you have a lovely girlfriend or whatever and you guys are so in love. You can look but can't touch." He grinned to himself like he had made a private joke.

Jessica looked at the television and examined the people in the ring. They were pretty attractive. She could maybe get behind his reasoning. She turned back to Clint who had a knowing smile on his face. She scowled, "You had other points? And just know if I don't like what you say, I can snap your brittle bones in half."

He smirked and took another drink of his beer and continued, "That actually is my second point. You somewhat enjoy the violence. I'd love to see you do some of these moves while manhandling some sad sack of shit."

Jessica mulled this over, but actually couldn't come up with a reply. She thought about how it would feel to suplex or powerbomb some of the scum that she worked to put down. She finally sighed and nodded, "Yeah, it'd be cool. Any other reasons, smart guy?"

Clint kind of got quiet, his hand tightened around his beer, "It reminds you of your brother." Jessica went still. Her jaw clenched and the can of beer in her hand basically imploded as she gripped it suddenly. She felt the alcohol go all over her pants and the floor under her. She vaguely felt his dog come and lick the floor clean before moving to her pants.

Her eyes cut to Clint who kept his eyes on the television. Where Brock Lesnar was throwing men around like stuffed animals. "How did you know?" She had told no one, not even Trish about how she'd stay up with her brother and watch WWE and WCW with him. She never told anyone, that she modeled her attitude after her fascination with Stone Cold. She hadn't told Trish that when she was living with her and her mother she'd stay up watching old wrestling tapes and crying because she missed her family.

Clint still didn't look at her, "The last time you were here we got plastered and I put it on. You were way more drunk than I was and you told me about all your favorite wrestlers. I don't think I've met a bigger fan of Stone Cold in my life." He took a small sip of his beer, "I asked you how you knew all these guys and you told me you used to watch it with your brother before he died."

She watched Brock Lesnar, a man she knew from her time watching back in the late 90s to early 2000s, hit some new guy with an F5. She felt numb; she can't believe she had told Clint that. She couldn't believe she could even get those words out. She unclenched her jaw and leaned forward for another beer. Her tone coming out harshly, "I don't need your sympathy."

"I'm not giving it to you." He said, and her head snapped to his face. It was set in a hard like expression actually facing her now. "You aren't the only one who had people die. You aren't the only one who had a shitty childhood. Just like you I watched this when I was a kid. I watch it today cause I enjoy it and cause I get that warm feeling of nostalgia."

Jessica let the silence between them linger for a while. She harshly cracked open her can of beer and took a long drink. "Don't think this means you kno-"

"Cut the shit, Jones. I'm not here to get into the deep dark recesses of our collective shitty lives. Just shut up and enjoy the damn wrestling show."

She swallowed thickly and nodded, turning her head back to the television. The warm and slightly uncomfortable feelings that she usually tried to tramp down came roaring back in full force. All the memories of the past and the excitement of a show she had loved as a kid came back and she felt herself relaxing by the minute. It was like falling into your bed after a trip where you only slept in hotel room beds.

They didn't speak again until after they had drank the last of the six pack. She finally turned to him and gave him an appraising glance. He looked over at her confused, "What?"

"If I give you my phone, and we go out and find some criminal, can you videotape me beating the shit out of him? I wanna try out the F5 and see if it works." It wasn't exactly a thank you, but it was close enough and made Clint grin excitably and sprint to go change into his gear.


End file.
